The Meet

by christopher taylor

"Does the phrase 'so much feces, so little time' mean anything to you?"

"Um. No."

"Ah. Then They must not have sent you."

"Sorry, who?"

"They."

"Who?"

"They."

"Ah." This wasn't going well. I had to find out what was going on. "Er..."

"So who did send you?"

"Um. Right. I sort of sent myself."

"That strikes me as being neither a truthful statement, nor an interesting one. Try again."

"Er. Okay. Angela sent me."

"Too specific. I don't know anyone named Angela, and by the look on your face, neither do you."

"Oh. Well, then how about 'T'?"

"Better. I might know a T. Why did T send you?"

"Hmm..." This gentleman was obviously a player. Adept at saying nothing. Lots of unreadable questions. Time to step things up. "Why do you think?"

"Ah, that is the question, isn't it..."

Foiled. "It sure is." Lame. All I deserve for that is a mocking stare. And sure enough, there it is. Sometimes you have to cut your losses. "T thought I should see you about The Thing."

"What thing?"

"The Thing."

"The Thing with The Guy?"

"No, The Thing with The Crew."

"Oh, that thing. What about it?"

"He wants..."

"Wait, 'He'?"

"Er." Damn. "Yeah."

"Okay, go on."

Shit. I really stink sometimes. "T wants me to ask you what I should do about The Thing."

"And who are you?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me?"

Shit. He's boxed me in. "I'm a friend." Perhaps...

"Anyone's friend in particular?"

Fuck. "I'm T's friend."

"Ah."

Smug fuck. Thinks he's got me. "Do you know why he wanted me to talk to you?"

"No, why?"

"I would have thought that J would have mentioned something..."

"J?"

"Christ, man. Don't dumb up on me."

"I don't know any J."

Fucker's trying to pull the wool. "Alright, cocksucker. You don't know J? I don't know J. You want to fuck around, I'll fuck around." Should I show my cards?

"Alright, alright. No need to resort to that kind of language. I know J. But she didn't mention anything."

Ha! "She?"

"Man, you brought her up. Don't even act like you scored."

He was right, but I wasn't about to let him know that. "Right. I thought she had." I don't like that glint...oh, fuck. He verified. Sly devil.

"So anyway, what was it you wanted to say?"

"I'm not sure that this is the right time."

"You chose it. You eat it."

"Right." I'll dig. "Happy Birthday."

"It's not my birthday."

"No?"

"No."

No? Hmm... "Isn't this 23 Mason Street?"

"Yeah."

"Apartment 5?"

"5?"

"Yeah."

"No."

What?

"Across the hall."

Oh, fuck. "Oh, fuck."

"Fuck is right. Get out."

So I left.